


Mum knows best

by seal



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seal/pseuds/seal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q’s mother calls on a dreary Thursday evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mum knows best

Q’s mother calls on a dreary Thursday evening. This sort of thing would normally be of no consequence - it’s rather nice to have a simple conversation centered on something outside of espionage and terror every so often - but circumstances make this call somewhat of an inconvenience.

“Darling,” she says, her voice sounding a bit hesitant over the line, “I don’t mean to bother you with such trivialities but my laptop has gone mad again and I can’t seem to get it to work.” 

Q is instantly suspicious. Although his mother is only a few steps above absolute incompetence when it comes to machinery, she should know her way around a restart button. 

Bond gives him a look, the one with the raised eyebrow and the not-quite smirk. His head is tilted at a slight angle, his expression more curious than annoyed, but that just sets Q’s teeth on edge. That look usually means he's up to no good. 

Q shushes him with a finger, “Have you-” he prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that his voice doesn’t give him away, “Have you tried restarting it, mum?” 

“Yes,” she says, “It just keeps restarting itself no matter what button I press.” 

Bond, because he is a difficult bastard, decides to choose this moment to take Q’s finger in his mouth and begins to lave the digit in such a way that sends Q’s brain function straight out of his ears.

“Are you alright?” His mother’s voice jars him, “You’re breathing a little harshly-”

“I’m fine, mum,” Q says too quickly, then winces. Now she will definitely know something is amiss. He tries to pull his hand back but Bond is one step ahead and already has his hand wrapped around his wrist, trapping him. His grip is too firm to break and the callouses on his hands rub up against the skin right above his pounding pulse. 

“Are you in the middle of wanking?” His mother asks and it nearly stops Q’s heart. His mother has always been quite candid when it came to sex, but this was a terrible time to bring it up. 

From the way Bond is smirking around his finger, he definitely heard it. Q is relatively sure that he will never live this down. No matter how many life saving gadgets he will create and no matter how many times he will save the world with the sheer might of his intellect, he will always have this ridiculous conversation hanging over his head. Bond, for his part, doesn’t comment, which is a mixed blessing. He instead moves on to take another finger into his mouth.

Q does not groan, but it’s a close thing. 

And what is his life come to that here, at this moment, he is stark naked, laying in bed with James Bond himself crouched over him, equally as naked and looking absolutely delicious, practically fellating his fingers while simultaneously having probably the most embarrassing conversation he’s ever had in his life with his own mother. His cock is so confused right now.

“No,” Q finally croaks out as he tugs at his fingers.

“You know you don’t have to be secretive with me,” his mother says, distracting him away from the utter filth that is being wrought onto his fingers, “Everyone has needs.”

“Please,” Q says helplessly, “Please stop.” 

He’s summarily ignored on both fronts.

“This reminds me,” his mother trucks on, “Your aunt tells me of a lovely young man in Kingston who is very handsome and very single.” Ah, so this was the true reason for her call. 

“Not interested,” Q gasps out when Bond takes a non-too-gentle nip at his fingers.

“I will have you know that he is a well respected surgeon,” His mother continues, “I’m sure he can satisfy your need for intelligent company.”

Q sees a flicker of something he can’t quite place in Bond’s eyes before the man pulls off of his finger with an obscene pop, leans forward so that his ear is pressed on the opposite side of the receiver and says in the absolute most filthy rumble, “I can assure you that your son is suitably satisfied, ma’am.”

Q’s heart stutters in his chest.

There is a soft, stunned, “Oh,” from the other end. Bond has the audacity to looks smug.

“Well,” Q’s mother says primly, a foreboding tone, the kind that means she's about to start on a tirade, “This is news to me. Why didn’t you tell me about this man?”

Technically speaking, James Bond is dead, Q thinks stubbornly. Legal should really get on that.

“And he sounds old,” she says suspiciously, “He’s not one of those dirty old men who prey upon young innocent boys for their deviant lusts, is he?” 

“Mum,” Q says helplessly, “He can hear you.” And he doesn't say ' _I'm not a young innocent boy_ ' like he wants to because he's certain Bond will look at him with that obnoxious triumphant look and laugh and laugh and laugh until he asphyxiated himself from laughing too hard, leaving Q with the unenviable task of explaining this whole disaster to M. And then Q would gather himself beheaded as a traitor to the crown, or worse, exiled to the United States where his brother would laugh and laugh and laugh until _he_ asphyxiated himself.

Bond, for his part, looks a bit lost, like he can’t quite process what just happened. Any other day in any other circumstance, Q would have cherished that expression, held it close and snuggled with it lovingly.

“Well there’s no use in hiding now. I don’t know why you would keep something like this from me, knowing I have been so worried about you finding a nice boy to settle down with.” Q reflects upon his life and ponders on where he took a wrong turn to end up face first into this train wreck. His mother, either oblivious or uncaring of his internal agony, shovels more dirt into her own son's grave, “If you’ve gone and found yourself a companion, I would’ve liked to know before I agreed for you to have dinner with the good doctor.”

“That certainly won’t be necessary,” Bond cuts in, finding it in himself to speak.

“Yes, I suppose it isn't. But I hope you realize how much a fuss you’ve now created,” she replied tartly, “You have no idea how much groveling I must do to get out of this mess. One that would’ve been so easily avoided if I had been _told_.”

Q can’t hold back a groan this time. He has the mind to protest such accusations, because really, how do you tell your mother you are bumping uglies with a international super spy who is, for a manner of speaking, dead? But then Eve would probably murder him for all the paperwork such breach of confidentiality agreements and proper clearance it would incur, his importance to national security be damned.

“I expect a visit from you in the near future where you will be properly apologizing to me about this whole thing,” And right before she hangs up with a loud click, “And for a formal introduction.”

Well, that was a disaster and a half. 

Q takes a deep breath before he says “I think we’re at a place in our relationship where we could benefit from getting to know certain aspects of each other better,” with a slight stutter he can’t suppress. He slides his hands up along the other man’s chest and stares at the healed scar over Bond's sternum instead of looking him in the eye, “And I’m sorry to bring this up on such short notice, but how would you like to meet my mum?”

**Author's Note:**

> I edited this a bit so it wouldn't be such a slob of syntax errors. If you see any errors, please let me know.


End file.
